A Glimpse Inside my Mind

I’m often told that my words or actions don’t make any sense to others. In fact, I’ve been told this so much over several years that I’ve started to look at it as my downfall. That is-until recently. Just because it doesn’t make sense to you, don’t mean it doesn’t make sense to me. I’m not one to be labeled at “normal” and after some recent self discoveries I now understand why.

My mind is like a book, as open as they come. I look at things from every and any perspective. I often spend my nights replaying my day and conversations I’ve had. I also often play conversations in my head about what may happen in the future. Does that make me crazy? Maybe, but my crazy is what makes me unique. Crazy is what creates my empathy.

I over analyze the littlest things I say so that I make sure not to accidentally hurt someone’s feelings, I observe more than I should and don’t speak up for myself often. Some can be perks while others may be “room for opportunity” as they say in the corporate world. I have compassion for the littlest things, like bugs or plants, and often wonder if it hurts when they are squashed or plucked.

My curiosity cannot fathom space. You mean to tell me that we are just a chance of perfectly balanced nature and this what we decided to do with our chance? Be rude and ruin the planet, some feeling entitled to any and all the food while others don’t have access bare necessities? I have fears about space that may seem little to others. Solar flares? With the amount of electricity and nuclear power we rely on? Devastating. Black holes? Different galaxies? All truly incredible, but nerve-wracking and unfathomable to my mind.

I replay my trauma, at times when I see red light I see the face of the man who sexually assaulted me. I hate going shopping and I hate going to the gas station. I hate being followed and I hate people staring at me. But I guess that’s what I have to thank that man for. Replacing what I could care less about with utter fear and hatred. It’s okay though, I’ve grown and I’ve learned.

I’m still learning actually. I’m learning that my traumas and my mind is what makes me different. The impulses that my friends adore about me is my bipolar peeking it’s way through the surface. The way I make sure everyone feels included because I have anxiety about speaking out. The way I wait to make sure my little sister has entered our parents home before driving off or the way I listen-ready to run to help at the sound of a child’s playful scream is my PTSD alerting me of possible danger.

My mental illness does not define me, but is a part of me; and many would never suspect my Borderline Personality Disorder. My mind is a jungle gym with nothing but obstacles to choose from; it doesn’t ever turn off. My mind is beautiful and it might be “labeled” as crazy, but I love and care with my all. However, with the help of therapy, my personality will no longer be a disorder.

Tips are always appreciated and go towards my help, thank you!